Elves with no sense of humor! Legolas thought wryly. I'd like to see these humans make it through 3000 plus years of living side by side with such a moronic race as their own! Try doing that without an extremely good sense of the absurdity of life and not committing mass suicide, or genocide! Ah well the lad was just a youngster. And a near barbaric horse boy. He could be forgiven his ignorance. Especially with those eyes!

Derfel had gone on with, "But you know I should challenge you for that. The Dunedain are now my kin. I could have taken that as an insult."

At that exact moment, Legolas felt, with extreme alarm, telltale rumblings of a gaseous nature in his lower belly. Gimli and his cram! Of course, the disgusting stuff had seen them through these last few days after the pack with the lembas in it had so vexingly fallen in the river. But really! It was worse than beans!

To the elf's dismay, Derfel seemed to have noticed the mixed look of embarassment and concentration that passed over Legolas' face as he waged that ages old battle of good manners pitted against often untimely and awkward bodlily urges

"Joking," Derfel said with a grin, as Legolas manfully, er, elfishly overcame his body's traiterous attempt to sabatogue this encounter. Legolas relaxed once more as the lad continued with a tale of having been kicked in the head by a horse when he was six. The elf barely contained a snort of laughter at this disclosure, coming as it did as the supposed justification for why so many of the Rohirrim were raving nutters. Well, it was as good an explanation as any, Legolas thought with an inward grin. Whatever the cause, he had to admit the overpowering masculine reckless of that race was . . . one of their best features. That and the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the tall, muscular build . . .

With a slight start, Legolas realized he was staring at the rider and that somehow Gimli was now regaling the lad with some tale of how many times he had been smacked on the head with a war axe. "And that is why, young lad" the dwarf was saying, "I always carry a tub of butter about with me. For you see. my head often swells, especially in weather such as this, and if it weren't for the butter, I'd have no way to get my helm off."

Derfel barely managed to keep a neutral expression while the dwarf went on about swelling heads and butter. It wasn't really what he wanted to hear while he was waiting for dinner. He had already seen many unsettling sights during his service, but most of them hadn't included rancid butter. He threw a semi-comical, semi-despairing look at the elf. The message was clear : ' Does he do that often?'
Legolas rolled his eyes in response. Obviously he did.
But right when Gimli was getting to the more ... 'unsettling' details, the barman arrived with his meal, which gave him a good excuse not to answer. He draped his cloak on the nearest chair and began to eat wolfishly even before he had properly sat down. He hadn't had a proper warm meal for at least two days and as a Rider he had learned to eat whenever he could, for as often as not the Riders would miss meals when riding.

Nicolette had left the bar leaving Borin sitting there... they had made plans to talk more later after she had gotten some rest... Borin noticed the young man who had been listening to the tales and woes of his cousin Gimli.. sometimes Borin believed his cousin had a few too many whacks to his head or spent too much time with the elves.

Borin picked up his mug of Dwarvian ale and walked over to the table where the young man sat wolfing down his food... "Excuse me young man. Do you mind if I join you?" the young man nodded and Borin took a seat at the table... "I would like you to know that not all Dwarves are like my cousin there" Borin said nodding toward Gimli.. "he always was a little off"
"did I hear you say you're a Rider?"

Darion rushed back and forth behind the bar, to the door of the kitchen, and then returning to the bar, only to dash back to the kitchen for the ordered meal and bring them back to the bar.

Yet, between his runs Darion managed to turn an ear towards the bar conversations.....some of them less than expected.....and Darion made a note to keep a tight eye on the butter keg on the other side of the kitchen door frame.

He watched with interest the exchange between the newly arrived young man of Rohan and the Elf.....the Elf becoming sranger and stranger to the young bartender and he shook his head now and then to himself.

Mirien caught his eye across the room and beamed....this was her father's inn.....and it was resurrected and living and full of business.....just as it had been in the old days while he lived. She smiled a thank you to her friend and turned to quieting fire to add a log.

bic: Young Robin Smallburrow, or to be exact, Robin Smallburrow Jr., came up to the inn on his pony. His father had wanted him to follow in his footsteeps and go for a Shirriff. Maybe later. He wanted to see the world first, and maybe have an adventure.

He had grown up hearing the tales of the Great Adventure of the War of the Ring from Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin, and he wondered if there were any adventures left out there. Maybe he was already cut out for Shirriffing as he already knew where all the inns were and the best beer around.

And he had heard of this inn near Fornost and decided to go out from the Shire and try it out. The Prancing Pony had become too crowded for his tastes, and too boring.

He hitched up his pony, stretched himself and went into the inn. Oh, to go to the Mountains and see one of the Great Eagles, the descendants of old Thorondor. Maybe he would catch a glimpse of Gwaihir himself, if he was still alive. He walked up to the bar and looked around. Master Samwise, it was, the old Mayor!

And an elf and dwarf. That couldn't be Gimli and Legolas, could it? He had never met them, but had heard descriptions of them repeatedly from Peregrin. But first things first. He went to a table near them just to listen, and ordered a beer, and some of that bread and butter. The aroma was heavenly. Maybe he would have some stew with it. He leaned on his elbows and listened, expecting to be regaled with some tales of adventures abroad.

"Good Evening Master Hobbit! Can get you an ale? or perhaps something for supper? I will have you know that we do keep a few small rooms for your folk"

Darion grinned at the young hobbit, liking the young fellow rather at once.

"The bread is fresh and the stew is mighty hot...not to mention a good batch of new butter....and the ale is tolerably good"

Mirien rushed into the kitchen to assist the cooks, then back to the dining room and down the hallways to the rooms to be sure they were clean, then a quick trip to the stable to be sure the boys were doing their jobs well. Upon being satisfied, the girl would then bustle around the dinging room cleaning tables and then back to the kitchen to cook and then to the bar to see how Darion was faring, then back to the kitchen were the whole process began again.

Mirien rushed around the bar, her eye set on the door, to see if the young hobbit's pony was being properly cared for. In her rush she did not see the young Rohirric until she collided into him at full speed...

"Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you!" said Robin. Rubbing his hands, he was pleasantly pleased by the stew and bread, and the ale was more than passable. Not as good as 1420 beer, but it was good. "Good enough for a birthday-party. And you may call me Cock-Robin, if you like. My dear father did." He got this out in the moments when the barkeep was rushing about.

Then she ran into the man. Whoops! This seemed to be a place to his liking.

"That would be Mirien" Darion said with a smirk as he followed the hobbit's amused glance, "She is young and nervous...this inn is all she has and her only hope in this place...she wishes it to be perfect. He shook his head at her flury, constantly running...that was Mirien all right.

"Do you travel often or this your first excursion into wastelands?" Darion asked with a sarcastic grin as the wind howled against the window outside.

The wind was blowing with such a speed it was becoming unbearable. The wind beating against her face Lady Lomiothiel could bearly see where she was going. Bramble branches whipped her face and clothes ripping and tearing anything they caught, blood and rain poured down her face and arms and her beautiful silver silk gown was torn and dragging along the muddy wet pathway.

we must be dawning near to a place of rest, lets keep going, ten more moments and if nothing is found we shall take shelter under a tree, i promise

She tugged a litte harder on the reins of her mare Nahrma but she was beginning to get quite stubborn, she wouldnt move. Lomiothiel gently whispered some elven words of her fathers into her horses ear and gently stroked her mane. Together Elf and horse made their way through the wind once more.
After only a few hundred yards Lomiothiel could see a dim but warm light through the darkness and rain. She had chose to walk for a few miles to rest Nahrma as they had been travelling for days now but upon seeing this welcoming light she managed to grab hold of Nahrma's saddle and hoist herself up. Using her last break of energy the mare galloped toward the ligt and before long there they were. Rain lashing down, thunder crashing and lightening flashing, she flicked her eyes over an old but beautiful building.
Lomiothiel quickly walked Nahrma over to the stables where another beautiful horse was feeding upon some fresh hay. Fumbling around in the darkness Lomiothiel unfastened the horses saddle only to be disturbed by a young human boy of only a young age. She thanked him hastley and headed for the doors of the inn. Along the top of a wooden beam was perfectly carved THE LONELY ROAD INN

Sounds like my kind of place

she muttered as she pushed the large heavy door. She stepped inside and gently allowed the door to shut. There were already a few people inside. Most looked like weary tired travellers but they all seems content and happy and most were talking as though they had known each other for years. She looked over and saw another lone traveller in the corner but felt no need to disturb him. She had to keep her head down so that nobody would find her so to disturb unprdictable strangers did not seem logical to her at present . She headed over to and empty table on the other side of the room and sat down to nurse her wounds. For now the Lonely Inn would be her hide away.

Edit (July 25, 2008): I was hoping this inn is still viable, but after two months without a reply, I removed my post to use elsewhere.

Edit again (August 23rd 2008): Glad to see the 'innkeeper' come back to their inn after over 4 months. May I be so bold as to suggest you all READ the Forum Rules, especially the part 1 pertaining to quality of posts (no 'one liners'), and part 7 pertaining to inns meeting the RP quality standards requirement?

Last edited by Arassuil on Fri Aug 22, 2008 7:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.

OOC: well, it's still open, so hopefully it will remaining up for a while...

Mirwyn's eyes were drawn to a young woman in the corner, scratched and bleeding, her dress tatttered. she fetched a pitcher of warm water and a towel and rushed over to the table.

'Miss, are you alright? here is some warm water and a towel to clean your wounds. would you like a room where you can clean up properly? There are hearths and warm blankets here, you can have a little comfort for the night. Do have a horse that needs stabling?'

At the bar, Darion continued to listen with amusement at his clients' conversations, barely concealing the amusement.

The fire burned brightly, crackling and popping, cedar sap sizzling in the intense heat. it cast eery shadows across the room and exaggerated the darkest corners; both its light and heat greatly appreciated. The kitchen maids banged and chattered as bread and soups were made and dished for hungry and cold travelers in the cold night.

looking cautiously from behind a bush across the road the tall figure began to stretch himself out and straighten up having seen nobody of real interest to him entering the inn he had decided it was just about time to head inside and anyway the wind was starting to get to that level he could barely hear his own thoughts anymore.

By now it was pointless to raise his hood as his hair was already too far gone to worry about and besides he had seen a pretty looking elf head inside earlier and had figured that such as he would be carrying far too many brushes than would be strictly needed by any one person.

The man strolled briskly across the brief patch or road and glanced up at the sign The Lonely Road Inn seemed a fitting name for the place being out of the way as it was, he reached for the handle to the door and felt a strange chill of excitement run through him.

As he entered he smiled broadly at the assembled company inside of the inn and moved slowly towards the bar being sure not to disturb any of the other guests to much.

Darion smiled as he noticed the ravenous look in his new client's eye as he looked towards the kitchen. Darion poured a full mug of ale and pushed it across the bar to the stranger.

"I believe that potatoe soup is the special tonight....though some beef stew could also be arranged. The cooks have come to the conclusion that cold and wet nights are the best sorts for such things as soup and stew...and let us not forget the fresh bread...." Darion paused for breath, "What will it be for you?"

(O.C.C: So sorry havn't posted before now I didn't think this was active anymore, so glad to find replies!!)

Lomiothiel slowly raised her head to look at the young female who had approached. She smiled and greatfully took the towels and warm water.

Diola Lle She said in a suprisingly calm and whispering voice.

She gracefully nodded her head as she thanked the woman and took the goods from her gentle hands. She dabbed the towel on her wounds and whinced as she felt them stinging. She noticed the young Inn keeper was now talking to another visitor in the same manner she had with herself.

A kind and genuine girl She thought to herself I know I will be ok here, they will not come this far in search of me. I can not move on but I can not go back. Time to re-create yourself. Namaarie Lomiothiel.

She sighed and gently pushed her hood from her head revealing her face. She did not wish to appear threatening at all to any of this young ladies customers. For now she would become Mara, a name she took from her brave late sister. She knew one day she would have to face them, but until then, she would rest and nurse her wounds.

Miss? I have taken the liberty of resting my horse in your stables, I apologise if this is inconvinient but I could find no other shelter for her. Do you happen to have a spare room? I feel I should too rest a while.

(OOC I thought was dead too! apparently not....I shall try to keep it active from now on)

"Of course!" Mirien assured the young woman, "And your horse shall be welll cared for in our stables...I can promise you that....Come this way, I shall show you to your room."

Mirien led her up the old, wooden steps and down a short, well-lit hall, opening the door a cozy room with a fire already lit upon the hearth,

"Will this do alright for you, miss?" Mirien asked kindly with the sort of concern generally reserved for innkeepers.

"Beef stew and bread it shall be then!" Darion said, and then called back into the kitchen, "Hi! One bowl of beef stew and a good cutting of that fresh bread we smell!" a muffled answer wafted out of the kitchen with the heat.

I thank you kind lady. I am Mara, Would it be too much if I were to stay a while?I feel at eaze here and I know I will be well rested in such a fine building

She entered the room Mirien has guided her too. It was a beautifully preserved room. It was clean and tidy room with fresh bed linen and towels on the bed. A vase of sweet smelling flowers perched upon the small wooden baskets. Mara walked around the room toucing everything softly smelling the fresh scented air. She venured over to the window and gazzed out into the dismall weather.

The young Inn keeper had at some point quietly closed the door and left the young elf be. Mara slipped off her small brown bag and untied the silken robe. It dropped to the floor with such elegance and Mara picking up her bag and from it she pulled a deep mauve gown. As she refilled her bowl with the fresh water from the jar in her room she began to tidy herself up.

We are as one and as one I shall now be. You will not die in vain Mara.

She lifted her head and sighed. She knew this was her only way.

After a while pet cleaning and attending to her wounds Mara slippedon the dress. It lie perfectly along her body as she slipped on some matching silk shoes. The smell from down stairs was tempting her down. She had not eaten for days except a few berrys from the bushes along the pathays. Beef Stew was definatley sounding perfect. She tidied up her belongings and slipped bag back over her shoulder. As she did so a small twisted clear rock fell from the pocket of it. She picked it up quickly wrapping it in a small blue cloth and stuffing it back in her bag. There it must remin, for now.

The night was far from friendly and the wind was blowing as chill and unforgiving as charity when Silmarie raised her head to read the sign THE LONELY ROAD INN. There was nothing special about it, there were thousands like this all over the country but to her it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Inn = water = food = a little pick-me-up.

She mused a bit on what a relative world we live in. She would have exchanged mountains of gold for one bath now. Well, at least a moderately sized hill.

She pushed the door and entered, drawing her hood closer. She didn't want to upset anyone. People glanced up and looked away. She wasn't anything special to look at anyway. Slightly below average height, fairly slender... she wouldn't be called pretty by even the kindliest souls in even the most flattering light. Most that could be said for her that she had lovely eyes, in the right light.

A quick glance told her that the patrons were nothing out of the ordinary. She limped to the bar and shuffled on a chair. Usually she would have preferred a table somewhere in the back but she'll be danged if she wouldn't get her share of chit chat and normal things tonight. She wanted normal things so bad she could feel it like a pain in her abdomen.

Terrible evening. How's your beer? she asked the barman. She shifted a bit to push her sword in a more comfortable position and, as the fire got to her slowly, she removed the hood. She could see the barman flinch slightly at the look of her scar, extending from just below her right eye down to the mouth. It wasn't fresh, which made it all the more disturbing to look at.

And do you do baths? she asked politely. Eru knows she needs one, she reeks of rain and autumn leaves.

She looked around and noticed a bleeding woman. Is she all right? she asked the barman with something approaching concern

As the new customer came through the door, no one so much as looked up except for Dairon, and that was his barkeep duty. Dairon couldn't help reacting to such scars.....they always made him think about how they got there and blood and pain and all the things he avoided in his short life.

"Terrible evening. How's your beer?"

"Our beer is the very finest for miles!" he assured the new customer, "And I hope that it, in combination with a fine meal will improve your evening."

"And do you do baths?"

"Of course! I will inform the proprietess as soon as the busy soul has a moment" Dairon assured as he readied a mug for the girl's order.

"Is she all right?" The young customer asked, eyeing the young, wounded woman on the other side of the common room, nursing her wounds in her dark, quiet corner.

"I am not sure..." Dairon replied uneasily, "The proprietess is seeing to her I believe...if she were in any real danger Mirien would have said something I'm sure..." Dairon glanced over at the wounded customer....he hoped she truly was alright. "You are not prone to using that weapon indoors I hope?" he asked the sword.

Silmarie sipped up the frothy beer the barkeep delicately put in front of her. She smiled at his question,

No, not if you aren't hiding a dragon or a pair of orcs underneath that bar of yours.

She relaxed in her high chair and felt a slight tingling in her throat from the beer.

My good man, I have tasted elven wine and renown ales from all over Middle Earth. And let me tell you, in this moment, I'd exchange it all for one more half-pint of your fine brew.

She hasn't felt that relaxed in ages. Not since that incident that landed her with her scar and a feeling of ill-will towards all humanity. But this, this was well-nigh perfect. Warm room, feeling of safety that eluded her all her long life. She wished the moment would last and last.

May I enquire of your name? I'd like to remember it for times when I shan't be so lucky to sit in a warm room with wonderful brew and kind souls to keep me company.

Dairon visibly relaxed at her answer; the last thing he needed was to explain a sword filled barfight to Mirien. The young woman sipped her beer and relaxed a bit herself, "My good man, I have tasted elven wine and renown ales from all over Middle Earth. And let me tell you, in this moment, I'd exchange it all for one more half-pint of your fine brew."

Dairon smiled brightly, his dark eyes lighting up ever so slightly at her praise, it had been too many years since he'd had such friendly customers to serve, and he'd missed it dearly....he caught Mirien's eye across the room and smiled. She smiled back just as brightly, he knew she felt the same as he did.

"May I enquire of your name? I'd like to remember it for times when I shan't be so lucky to sit in a warm room with wonderful brew and kind souls to keep me company." Dairon turned his attention back to the customer as Mirien made her way across the common room to the bar.

"I am Dairon, born of these cold, hard, desolate regions, although many years have been spent here at this inn with the young proprietess Mirien, and as an employee to her father before her."

"You beckoned, Dairon?" Mirien asked when Dairon stopped talking.

"Yes....this young patron wishes for a bath this evening" Dairon explained.

"Very well," Mirien nodded, "I will summon you when it is ready" and the young proprietess rushed off once again.

"I'm sorry, I never caught your name?" Dairon half stated half asked as he turned back to the patron at hand.

Silmarie, she said softly, surprising even herself. It came so natural to give an alias that hearing her real name said out loud came as a rather nasty shock. She hasn't heard it in fifty or more years.

I am of the people of Elrond Halfelven.

I am of the people of Melian, she added in the privacy of her mind. Or was, in those far off days. And Elrond would not mind if he heard I named him as my lord, in any case. It was half true these days. No sense in giving too much information, it all belonged to the past and shall never return. It was of no real significance nowadays

It is a noble and difficult calling, being a barkeep. You not only serve the drink but keep the peace, listen to wary travellers and generally help the people forget their woes and worries, albeit for a short while. But, speaking for myself, both short and long relief are equally appreciated.

But tell me, how did you become a barkeep? she enquired, feeling slightly silly for saying it. She instantly remembered a king who went around saying Oh, so you're a thatcher, how excellent! And how did you decide to become that? It's only natural that sons inherit business from their fathers. However, years taught her that from silly questions came wonderful stories.And she enjoyed stories immensely.

"Silmarie of the people of Elrond Halfelven....it is nice to meet you." Dairon left the young Elf to her quiet thoughts.

"It is a noble and difficult calling, being a barkeep. You not only serve the drink but keep the peace, listen to wary travellers and generally help the people forget their woes and worries, albeit for a short while. But, speaking for myself, both short and long relief are equally appreciated."

"I thank you, though it is undue praise..."

"But tell me, how did you become a barkeep?" Dairon was quiet a moment at that question...it was not as simple as she seemed to expect it to be, very little, Dairon had learned, was simple about anybody.

"Ten, perhaps twelve years ago I came into the service of Berad, Mirien's father, as an apprentice stable groom....I believe I was nine at the time....my mother was dying and my father could not afford to keep me. I worked as a stable groom here until I was eighteen years old....it was a fine job"

Dairon was quiet for moment, it had been a long run of bad years then. Mirien's mother had died when Dairon was still a very young apprentice stable groom. Many had died.

"There was this fever that ran through the villages here again and again...they claimed many lives, including Berad's two years past. I was just then learning how to keep a bar, and the night before the old man died I was drunk in the village and got myself into fight. I was put in prison for the night."

Dairon shook his head at the memory, she was a stranger and didn't need to know why he had felt so compelled to fight that evening...or even why he felt so compelled for the only time in his life to drink.

"But Mirien came and paid my bond, angry as she was, and told me the old man's fate....I could see she was sick as he had been. It was a long fight, but she did make it through; she was a lucky one. When she decided to re-open the inn she gave me a job as barkeep; said it was the least she could do for not leaving her to die. Everyone else who had work here had fled as soon as she fell sick, at least those that hadn't left when Berad was ill. I didn't have anywhere to flee." Dairon looked down at a glass he was cleaning and shrugged, "There are many worse things I could be doing."

Silmarie nodded at the barkeep Pestilence ruins many lives and shatters almost all hope. And a wise person does well to ... let off some steam once in a while, although not too often she said delicately, referring to his drunken brawl. She has been down that path more times than she'd care to remember and she took a solace in knowing some cells quite intimately. It wasn't very flattering to be thrown in a cell while singing old heroic songs and threatening the jailer with untimely demise, but fair's fair she never actually killed anyone and made it a point never to attack the Law.

You were very brave to stay by your friend in her time of need. It is a blessing to have someone you can rely on.
Just then, the young proprietess, Mirien she remembered her name was, came up to her. Your bath is ready. If you'd care to follow me?
She did and found the bath extremely to her liking. It was as hot as summer and fragrant as a garden. She plopped herself down into it, carefully covering her sword with her old cloak.

Life was good, just for now. Perchance she could sing a song just now? Nah, best not spoil it for the kind barkeep and the delicate proprietess.

She delicately removed a small beetle from her hair. Ugh, foul, she thought to herself. She tried to keep as clean as possible in the wilderness, but it wasn't always possible. Especially if you were tracking. But after the job is done, you can't beat a warm bath and a good night of rest. Or heroic songs, if fancy takes you that way.

She sighed and completely submersed in the bath. Heaven can wait.

She came back to the bar, visibly relaxed and considerably more presentable.

If there is anything more relaxing than a bath, I don't know what it is. she smiled and then scanned the bar. A row of bottles caught her eye.Why is it that every bar shall always have a row of bottles of questionable colour and fruity names? Ravishing Raspberry? I like that bottle.

She mentally counted her assets and decided it would suffice for a night of experimenting with strange tastes.

I think I like that bottle so much, I'd like to try a small drink from it. And anything for yourself? she added. If your employer frowns on you drinking ale, perhaps just a lemon drink?

"You were very brave to stay by your friend in her time of need. It is a blessing to have someone you can rely on."

Dairon smiled slightly, "The old man actually owed me money....several months' pay to be exact.....that's why I stayed at first, but her and I have come to far more of a friendship and understanding since then...we need each other too much to be at odds often."

When the patron had gone for her bath, Mirien lingered at the bar for a moment, "Business is well" she said, a satisfied but quiet smile on her still rather pale face...the illness had sapped her thoroughly, and she had not gained all it had taken back again.

"Very well indeed" Dairon returned her smile much brighter than she gave it, "You will earn your way in this world yet!" Dairon promised.

"Of course I will!" Mirien returned. She would have been angry at his mock, but she saw the teasing smile, "As will you! however you mock your employer!"

"I do not mock...only tease" Dairon said more seriously, "You know I would never mock you" he added a little quieter.

"Perhaps I do" Mirien smiled mischievously, a taunting sparkle in her eyes as she turned back to her patrons, "Just perhaps..."

Dairon chuckled softly under his breath, a year or two ago she would have never responded to him that way, and he never would have dared to smile at her as such...Dairon had a talent in mocking with his very smile.

"If there is anything more relaxing than a bath, I don't know what it is.
Why is it that every bar shall always have a row of bottles of questionable colour and fruity names? Ravishing Raspberry? I like that bottle."

Dairon smiled, "For the specific purpose that you will see them and ask me about them....and then I convince you to buy said bottle."

"I think I like that bottle so much, I'd like to try a small drink from it. And anything for yourself? If your employer frowns on you drinking ale, perhaps just a lemon drink?"

Dairon poured a glass of the rasberry drink the patron had admired, "Aye, she does....but not so much as I do. That night I was arrested, it was the first time I tasted ale, when Mirien paid my bond and freed me I swore to myself and to her that I would never drink again...and as greatly as I would like to accept your offer of a lemon drink, I fear I cannot..."

as if on cue, Mirien placed a small armload of mugs and glasses on the bar, "Work calls....and besides," he nodded at the door, "I may have become the barkeep, but I have not forsaken my training....I am also the head groom and must check on the boys now and again." He paused to think, "But perhaps later in the evening?"

A small shadowy figure moved quietly yet purposefully down the dark empty street. Most every lamp had been extinguished by this hour, and doors locked. She’d managed to find a stable for her mount, and if she didn’t find an inn pretty soon she’d be sleeping with the horses. Pulling her warm grey cloak closer to her against the growing chill she glanced up at a sign hanging from an eave.

“Lonely Road Inn,” she muttered to herself. There was a lamp burning outside the door and she could hear voices inside. It would do, granting that the innkeeper had any rooms available. Pulling a thin blue wrap from the pack that was slung over her shoulder, she quickly wrapped it around her waist and tied it as a skirt over her faded black trousers. She knew her unconventional dress often bothered locals, and she’d rather blend in tonight. She was too tired for a scene.

Stomping the mud off her boots, she braced her slight frame against the door and pushed, anticipating the slight stick of the heavy old door. Upon stepping inside, she instantly felt the chill start to leave her bones. She brushed her hood down and shook out her pixie-cut red hair, wondering for a moment what she must look like after several days on the open road. The door shut as quietly as it could behind her and she stepped towards the bar. A quick glance told her the inn held an odd variety of occupants…elf, human, dwarf…but none seemed threatening.

“Hello there,” she spoke to the barman as she slid up to the bar, “If I could get a pint and whatever food you might have on hand, you’d be my hero.” She flashed him what could only be described as a childish smile. He voice held a slight elvish accent, but she appeared human.

She smiled at him, Yes, perhaps. A drink is the least I can do to repay your attentiveness.

She sank back int her thoughts as he left to attend the horses. She thought about her last assignment, although she was prone to put it out of her mind as soon as it was finished. There was a slight feeling of incompleteness as it always was when she was between assignments. And she still hadn't got the last part of her payment. She mused she must surely visit that sneaky man before she began her next job, whenever that may be.

Almost as an afterthough, she pulled a piece of paper from her trouser pocket. It was addressed to Ithiliel, the name she used for the more questionable jobs. She ripped the seal and read

Dear Ithiliel,she has escaped again. This time it is a rider from Rohan. I know you must have a lot on your hand but I still beg you. Bring her back.

She felt a bit annoyed at the letter. She picked it up from the Pony a few days ago and although she had a feeling it might be trouble, she pretended not to know. And now it turns out that pesky daughter ran off again. She always felt like a babysitter for tracking her, but her father once did her a substantial favour and he always paid more than handsomely. And a person had to eat.

Rider this time. She always wondered why Brodda didnt just wait. His daughter was sure to be sent back in a few months time. That young woman was as annoying as she was beautiful.

She felt a gust of wind behind her as a stranger walked into the inn. She slid on a chair a few places from her. She ordered a beer and smiled in a very contagious way. She couldn't help smiling herself, even though her smiles made the scar stand out more. She turned slightly and nodded to her. Ghastly night we're having.

Dairon smiled slightly, "I thank you...though I am doing only my job." He turned his attention to the tankards, his hands working quickly and his ears still attentive to his patrons.

The door swung open and another young woman entered the warmth of 'Lonely Road'.

“Hello there,” she spoke to the barman as she slid up to the bar, “If I could get a pint and whatever food you might have on hand, you’d be my hero.”

Dairon poured the pint and called back to the kitchen for the stew and bread, "I'll get you the food and pint, but you do not need to see me as your hero" he smiled.

Mirien came to the bar, walking a little slower than before, seeming to have calmed a bit as the initial frenzy of patrons slowed. "Will either of you ladies be requiring a room here tonight? There are plenty available?"

"Are you alright, Mirien?" Dairon asked quietly, faint concern for his still-weak friend and employer, her face looked a little paler than he thought it perhaps should.

"I am alright" she promised, "I am a little tired....but I am working," she smiled reassuringly, "Work will make a person tired." Dairon's look of concern did not immediately leave. "I am well, Dairon, do not worry for me."